Hind Kabawat ~ Offiical Website

لا يدعم المستعرض الذي تستخدمه الإطارات المضمنة أو تمت تهيئته حالياً حتى لا يدعم الإطارات المضمنة.

Free Michel Kilo

Michel Kilo and Me in Al-Nahar New Paper

By Hind Aboud Kabawat
Proud Syrian.

Although my father was a Batthist, he raised me in a house where I could believe what I wanted to believe. He gave all of his children the freedom to make their own decisions about who they were politically. He raised four children, each of whom has different political perspectives and role models. Growing into a person with political convictions is not an easy task.

In my teenage years I swung from the left to the conservative Christians to the Palestinian liberation parties, ending up with the Syrian National social party and my role model, Antoine Saadeh.

One of my father’s good friends was a man named Michel Kilo. He believed in a better Syria and in non-violent change, in moderate and balanced reform from within. Above all, he believed that one should always stand with ones country against outside threats. I heard them late at night in my house, discussing with passion their love of our country.

My father died twenty years ago, and soon after that, I left Syria to work and study abroad. Every time I cam back, which was as often as I could, I visited my father’s dear friend Michel. We would sit in his modest apartment within view of his library fully of books, surrounded by the smell of coffee and the aroma’s of Wadiha Kilo’s cooking. I could feel love in their house, a safe place where I could be myself when I missed my father and did not want to leave my country again. I visited Michel Kilo’s house because I found wisdom, love, and a shoulder that I could cry on.

I am older now, but it is still Michel and Wahida that I turn to when my moral is low. When I am depressed they make me optimistic, and when I am flying too high off the ground they bring me back in touch with the reality. Michel Kilo taught me to love my country unconditionally, and he taught me to give to Syria without asking for anything back.

After I graduated from university in the States, I brought him a picture of me in my graduation robes with the Syrian flag flying in the background. After all, it was his articles that I read on cold and snowy nights when I was far from home, and it was the memory of his home that kept the homesickness at bay. When I gave him the picture of my graduation, he was happier to see the flag of Syria flying in the skies of America than he was to see me with my degree.

Last week I sat once more in the Kilo’s living room. I was telling Wadiha how much I missed Michel, and my eyes filled with tears. Wadiha tried to make me feel better, and when we hugged I no longer knew who was comforting who. With her arms around me, I felt my heart about to burst with sadness for Michel, the moderate reformer and perhaps the greatest flower of the Damascus Spring, sitting behind bars. Instead of being with us and teaching us to serve our country selflessly, Michel is right now in a gray prison cell.

As I walked back home through the Old City of Damascus, I saw my city. I heard the voices of people talking and music spilling out of open windows and doorways. I saw children playing and watched the expressions play across the beautiful faces of my countrymen, and it made me think of my two children. My children love their country and their people. Among their role models are Sayed Hassan Nasrallah and Nelson Mandela, two people who gave everything they had because they believed that their country and their people had the potential for greatness. On that day, I decided it was time to speak with my children about my friend and role model, Michel Kilo. I decided that they need to know about this man, who taught me that what is right for my country, my Syria, should always be uppermost in my mind. To be a mother, to teach my children what is right, I need to teach them about this man, who showed us all that there is no sacrifice too great to make for ones country.